


Dare to Defy

by Coffeebreakcreations



Series: Abstractionverse [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Casual, FC Bayern München, Gen, M/M, Short One Shot, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24738442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coffeebreakcreations/pseuds/Coffeebreakcreations
Summary: As stadium lights die and the glamour the media wears off. The lives of FC Bayern Munich's players are all up to speculation to their fans.Superpowers, however are one thing no one could possibly expect from them.But it doesn't make it any less real.
Series: Abstractionverse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751947
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Serge Gnabry

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a four part series dedicated to Serge, Niklas, Leon and Joshua but I've come to expand it to the rest of Bayern's players. I think it's high time I write something light and domestic about them. A casual exploration of their wonderful abstractions.

**Serge Gnabry**

Riptide

***

The skies roared as dark clouds gathered over the stretch of the horizon. When it finally rained, many retreated to shelters. All of them almost huddled together, shivering. But not Serge. Instead he braved what looked like a curtain of water stretching for miles.

The downpour muffled their calls. All concerned of Serge. They warned him of illness for days to come but he just ignored all of it.

He opened himself to the clouds, allowing the rain to coat his body. It was an embrace, safe and comforting. Ironically enough, it reminded him of a warm blanket.

And then there was a click in his mind. A moment of clarity. He raised his arms and circled it on top of his head and soon enough the rain froze in its place. It then followed his movements as if they were entranced to his movement.

Serge turned and twirled and the water played along with him. He was one with it, liquid and agile. Water flowed around him like the finest silk gliding across one's skin.

Illness? What is this nonsense that the others are warning him about. There can be no such thing for Serge. The rain is an all giving mother. Generous to those who would accept her gifts, and ruthless to those that dare to transgress her.

Serge does not fear the rain, for he is in his element.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this looked longer in google docs. I promise that the coming chapters for Leon and the rest will be longer. But I think I was able to reflect on Serge's abstraction in how I wanted. 
> 
> As always, feel free to comment feed backs are always appreciated :)


	2. Niklas Süle

**Niklas Süle**

Subspace

***

Rusty chains, and a cheap kitchen knife. Niklas would be amused at how cartoonish these thugs looked if only Joshua weren’t expecting him along with Serge and Leon on a rendezvous point in Leipzig. Instead, he just sighed, slightly annoyed. He has no time for this really, he ought to get going. He just happened to walk on the wrong alley at the wrong time.

“So you gonna empty your pockets? Or are you gonna fight us big guy? Either way, it’s two to one.”  
  
He studied their stance. Chains-guy has his legs spread too far apart, possibly compensating for the fact metal chains aren’t really an efficient weapon. Niklas wondered how many times it hit him instead whenever he missed. Knife-guy meanwhile, has his body almost faced to the side, possibly trying to distance as much of his own skin from his blade. He found it weird that he’d be afraid of his own weapon.

He flicked his wrist slightly upwards, and a bubble of shimmering light enveloped the alley. They don't look like abstractors at all, but it's better safe than sorry.  
  
They don’t even look like trained fighters. Just two men who grabbed what passes as a weapon and hoped it would intimidate a poor soul that would cross paths with them. Unfortunately for them, it was Niklas that they ran into. Niklas shrugged at himself, maybe he’ll entertain them. Just this once. His post is nearest to the rendezvous point anyway.

Chains-guy swung downwards. Niklas dodged which made him move awkwardly to evade his own chains flinging back right at him. While distracted, Niklas pulled him from the back of his neck and delivered a kick to the groin. With a great yelp of pain he staggered backwards.

Knife-guy’s turn. He charged to Niklas, the blade pointed at him straight. He stepped sidewards letting him pass through before pulling Knife-guy’s forearm and shoving his elbow into his nose. Knife-guy dropped his weapon and cupped his face, letting out a muffled cry.  
  
Niklas sighed as he stepped out from the scene. With another flick of the wrist he retracted his subspace. There was nothing to negate. He wasn’t a fighter type anyway despite looking like the obvious fighter in their group.  
  
Before his abstraction manifested he trained himself into a form optimized for combat. Punching bags, weights and whatever things he can put up as an obstacle course. He fancied himself shooting lightning, breathing fire or punching into rock. He expected to manifest an offensive abstraction. He idolized many offense types in the German Order that manifesting a defensive type never really crossed his mind. When it finally happened. He was beyond disappointed.

He was ashamed at first, so much so that he evaded discussions about his abstraction. To him, what can a bubble of aura do? It didn't give him any special power up when he activated it. But the more he hid his power, the more it was left unexplored. At the same time, he didn't really see any use of exploring it. It's not like the Order would be interested with him anyway.

How wrong he was.

It wasn't until Leon and Serge teamed up against him that they learned of his abstraction's properties. One day the two cornered him, Leon conjured lightning and Serge shot a jet of water. In a panic, Niklas activated his abstraction and soon enough the lightning dissipated and the jet fell into a puddle. In retrospect, Niklas still thinks that it was dumb of them to surprise him like that. What if Leon was wrong? Thank goodness, he wasn't.

"Whenever I'm with you, my abstraction would go haywire in a specific kind of way," he said as an excuse. A weak excuse, still, Niklas would argue.  
  
Still, throwing a few punches felt pretty sweet. He supposes he earned to treat himself to hit a few muggers. It’s not like he sought out a fight anyway. They started it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I could've done more to actually demo his abstraction. But I had fun nonetheless. Nik can punch a few criminals as a treat.
> 
> Not really sure about the fight scene. Please excuse that, or not. You know what, feel free to criticize it. I would appreciate any feedback.


	3. Leon Goretzka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon laments in not being able to join Serge and the others in combat training and instead, due to his own abstraction, possibly give himself tuberculosis cracking open dusty old scrolls and tomes.

**Leon Goretzka**

Arcaneologist

***

Leon has always wondered how it feels like to train at the compounds’ integrated arena. He can only imagine it whenever Joshua nonchalantly talk about it. The state of the art technology inspired from German abstractors. Courses and minions that operates with a crystalline body similar to Manuel Neuer’s Solid Light, powered by an artificial intelligence lead in development by Jerome Boateng himself .  
  
But alas, the compound’s arena is not the place to empower his abstraction. He isn’t even at the compound, not even in Germany. He’s in France buried under books in it’s very own Bibliotheque Nationale de France.

“You shouldn’t be skipping volumes.” Olivier Giroud said as he placed another stack of old tomes right in front of him. “Trust me, I tried. It didn’t end well.”

  
Leon sighed, and slammed the book shut. “I have no time to start from the basics. I need to learn useful spells right away or else I’d be thirty before I could be deployed to a mission.”

Olivier gave him a disapproving look. “Well, it’s not like you’re going to be sent on a mission where you'll need one. When I was at your level, all the missions given to me and Hugo was just to survey an anomaly, apprehend a criminal abstractor, and locate a stolen artifact.” He handed over a book to Leon. “And even now, high level spells drain me. Not to belittle you kid, but I don’t think you can even charge one high level spell before passing out.”   
  
“I hate this,” Leon complained. “I should be back in Germany, training with the others in actual combat.”   
“I know how that feels. When I was defeated by Hugo when we were young, I climbed the top shelf and picked out the most devastating spell possible. Guess what happened.”   
  
Leon shrugged.   
  
“Next training, the spell blew to my face. I was out for two days. Believe me, you’ll get your time in the German Order’s fancy new arena but before that,” He handed him another book, “Maybe learn a spell that won't blow up in your face.”   


Leon sighed again and looked at the book. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like a personal journal owned by someone named Charles Boudelaire.

“The poet?” Leon asked.

“Yes. Many of our kind turn into poetry to channel the arcane back then.”

Abstractions come in many forms and sizes. Take two that seemed identical and pit them against each other and soon enough you’ll spot the quirks and gimmicks unique to each. However the same cannot be said for Leon and Olivier’s abstraction.

They called themselves Arcaneologists. No one can really knows what they really are, or why do they occur in a small percentage of abstractors. A common heavy criticism say that they are premature abstractions, doomed to never find their own identity. However there are those that refute that and instead praise them as the purest form of abstraction. That they have liberated themselves from its constraints, therefore able to mold their energy to whatever shape or form. It often becomes a heated debate among them.   
  
Some just don’t care. Like Olivier who, instead of playing five dimensional chess with his own mind, focused his own talents into helping the French Order as much as possible.

But one thing is for sure, that Arcaneologists are prized in each nation. Germany has Leon, Belgium has Jan Vertonghen, Italy has Marco Veratti, Spain has Sergio Busquets and France has Olivier Giroud and possibly Kylian Mbappe. Although Giroud doesn’t seem too keen to disclose that information.   
  
“Do you ever get tired in libraries?” Leon asked.

“Sometimes. But it does feel pretty satisfying when I show Hugo a new trick.” Olivier said, as he flipped a page. “Ex verbo potentia” He muttered.

“What does that mean?”   
“From words, power. That’s what Jan Vertonghen told me when I lamented the same complaints to him.” Olivier chuckled as he looked over Leon with nostalgia in his eyes. “He was always the wisest among all of us. Most patient, most resourceful and arguably most powerful.”   
  
Giroud put down his book. “Do you know that he can stop time?”   
Leon whipped his head towards him so fast it almost cracked, “He can?”

“Well it’s just a rumor. Tampering with time is an extreme feat for our kind that only the ancient greek are able to pull off. But I do know that he studied their language, half sure if he really paid top money to have stone tablets excavated. Whether he got it and mastered the philosophy of Chronos is pure speculation. Who knows, but what I’m really certain is that’s his ambition as an Arcaneologist.”   
“Do you have one? An ambition, I mean, as an Arcanelogist.”

Giroud laughed. “I’m a simple man, not as crazy as Jan, all I want is to know is how to serve and protect the captain and the order and if that means I have to read every book, in every library then so be it.” He paused. “Maybe you should think of one, then you’ll be a little more motivated to read.”   
  
As Olivier returned to his book, Leon followed suit, cracking open Boudelaire’s early journal. It’s an artful and detailed recount of his early struggles as an Arcaneologist. Meeting others of their kind, that went on to be known as knights, noblemen, court sorcerers, town healers, swamp witches, from renowned scholars down to occult priests shunned by the catholic church.   
  
To think that he can partake to a greater collection of knowledge. The very reason why they are recognized more as academics than wizards. So maybe, just maybe, Leon can contribute to this great pool of knowledge as well. To innovate on their power, to usher their field of study to a new era. That will be his greater ambition.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I was writing this chapter. I was looking at photos of Olivier Giroud, him being an Arcaneologist doesn't really vibe that much for me. But then again, I do want to designate him Hugo Lloris right hand in the French Order. I think him being an Arcaneologist fit that so well.
> 
> Also yes. Given Leon's current... development... he doesn't vibe with the academic type anymore haha. I am kinda terrified of ripped Leon and conceptualized his abstraction while he was still, you know, lanky nerdy college student type.
> 
> Anyway, that's enough nonsense from me. If you liked this, please leave a kudos and comment. Thank you for reading I appreciate it :)


	4. Jerome Boateng

**Jerome Boateng**

Automata

***

When one draws a line connecting football players and technology one automatic thing that pops up to mind is their lavish displays of their lifestyles in their social media. And that is a fact, of course, a fact that even Jerome Boateng himself is severely guilty of. Who would blame him? He was born stylish.

But his appreciation of technology runs deeper than that.

His abstraction, Automata, gave him a power that granted him a deeper understanding with the ones and zeroes zipping along a circuit board. One would think that having a tech oriented abstraction would make him disconnected with humans, almost robotic in his insight. The truth is, Jerome was the opposite. 

His affinity for technology has made him more human.

Contemporary works view technology as a path to destruction. There is a truth to this of course but Jerome’s agreement and disagreement to the insight is a little more complicated.

The thing is, technology bound by greed will obviously emulate greed. His philosophy in his crafts is that if a machine was crafted with love and compassion in mind it should become not just a tool for mankind, but an extension of its goodwill.

But such a thing, unfortunately is a far stretch in this greed infested world. The thought of it disgusts Jerome. Technology should enrich lives not destroy it.

Not to mention the culture of craftsmanship behind it. It was toxic, evil and so cartoonish that it almost looked like villainy.

Technology and systems developed today should liberate people of its limits. To give them more time to meditate on their humanity. To explore the depths of the world and the boundless universe beyond. To create art, compose music, devise a newer method of expression.

So that is his goal. To create machines that will undo all the systems of greed that were left unchecked. To liberate people from their technological shackles. To usher a new age of art, imagination and compassion through the very thing typically created to defy it.

It is going to be an uphill battle, but he’s got his Automata by his side and the German Order’s interest combined with the undying optimism and support from his friends. Jerome Boateng can do anything.

It’s been three years since he’s joined the German Order. So far, most of the systems in the compound have next to no application for Jerome’s Automata but that’s all going to change today.

He retracted a blue aura that connected his fingertips to the computers. This has been a project he’d been dwelling on for so long. Thank goodness for his abstraction that he need not physically type in code into a compiler.

The moment he discovered he can create code just from telepathically connecting with computers opened so many possibilities. He’d spent the majority of his hours researching and creating.

He would sneak in a small device as he trained in football. The half focus should halve his performance, but he tried anyway and it helped him, actually. 

He isn’t sure if it's a property of his abstraction that he is able to partition his mind for doing more than two tasks at once but what he’s definitely certain of is nothing makes you more nimble than protecting a micro computer in your pocket in a contact sport.

  
He typed a line into the command interface in his laptop. As soon as he hit enter, three displays lit up on a desk beside him. Sets of cooling fans from a number of computer units, that are totally not snatched from the compound, whirred as chipsets started processing his code.   
  
Jerome grabbed a fire extinguisher just in case his DIY mainframe blows up in his apartment.

First it was nothing more than a rain of gibberish zipping through his screen. Green text on black background too swift to be read. Jerome can only hope that none of it are compiler errors.

The screens faded to darkness once more. Jerome waited for a little bit, perhaps it had frozen and was just taking time to respond. He waited until he felt like his fingers were making a dent on the red canister in his hand. Slowly, he hovered his fingers on the ‘Esc’ button, debating whether he should reboot the system.

His finger touched the plastic key almost willing his hand to push it. And he almost did if not for a small horizontal dashed line swiped from the three screens. The system is up.

  
“System, start” Jerome said, hopeful.

The fans whirred once more, shockingly fast this time around. Jerome was quick to grab the fire extinguisher right away shaking as he removed the safety pin and aimed the nozzle at the computers.

And then, a reply.

“Hello, Jerome Boateng,” it said. “How should I address you, sir? A creator? A master? A teacher?”

Jerome smiled. The creases in his cheek pushed out a tear in his eye. He choked on a sound that is a mixture of a light chuckle and a faint cry. This is it, the start of his dreams. The age of compassionate technology.

“How about a friend, Adelaide?”


	5. Ink and Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two abstractors survey Munich, one entranced by its beauty, the other puzzled by its mysteries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the drill, sudden inspiration, light editing. I hope you like it, please post a comment or kudos if you do :)
> 
> Will edit later :)

“It is as Frank Ribery has boasted. Munich is truly an amazing city, don’t you agree Ink?” Paper said as he surveyed the skyline from atop of the Allianz Arena. Granted that it is not the perfect place to absorb the city’s grandeur, still he cannot deny that there is an energy that supplements how mesmerizing it has been.

An energy that Ink is trying to decipher.

“Can we at least postpone operations until tomorrow? You haven’t even been to this place wearing Bayern’s shirt yet you’re already vandalizing it.”

And Ink really was. Well, that’s the crux of his abstraction. He hesitated drawing on the metal panel that covered the Allianz with a carefully inked paintbrush before giving Paper a look of unabashed irritation. Typical of him to be sentimental of the cities he visits. Of course, Ink cannot also deny that Munich is beautiful, he is not blind. However, he was brought here to work and not to go sight-seeing.

Perhaps there will be time to do that later on but Ink would at least want to have a bit of progress before postponing work. It’s such a shame that his tests are giving them nothing.

“If only that old fool had not returned empty handed I would take you on that offer Paper,” Ink grunted. ”Fine, give me two sheets of papyrus.”

Paper nodded and prepared conjuring the request. “Papyrus, huh. You rushing?” he said with a hint of glee. He knows that papyrus boosts the type of magic Ink uses, maybe if he could wrap up earlier tonight he could join him and actually just tour the city themselves without any work dragging them. Or, well, just Ink since he’s the one who is doing the actual work here.

He placed the underside of his arms together, his right hand fingertip just shy of touching the tip of his left shoulder and his left hand fingertip touching the underside of his right shoulder. Slowly, he pulled them away and when both of his fingertips touched he swiftly swayed his arms to his side. 

In his hands are two full sheets of paper. Old and worn looking, rough to the touch as if it was woven fabric. Genuine high grade papyrus, one that would’ve sold for a premium in ancient times and survived to the present, out of thin air.

But when he handed the sheets to Ink he wasn’t pleased at all. Of course he smiled and nodded as he took it from Paper but a heavy air of resentment seems to cloud him. It had started since they began surveying the city and only gotten worse atop of the Allianz. With his mention of Frank Ribery earlier it might have even quintupled.

“You’re still bitter about it?” Paper asked.

“About what?” Ink replied.  
“Don’t pretend you don’t know. I can feel that it’s been at the back of your mind since we stepped in this city.”

Ink carefully laid the papyrus sheets on the metal panels. In one, he drew a symbol of an open palm with a bubble emanating outwards, filling the paper like ripples on the surface of water. In the other, he drew an eye with it’s pupils resembling a curved diamond, there were six lines around the eye in what looked like rays of light entering it.

He placed the paintbrush back to his toolkit and began applying his abstraction on the crude artwork. These sigils should be thorough enough to grant him information and if lucky, more information in a matter of moments in what Ribery has gathered in twelve years.

“You deserved it,” Ink lamented, “Way more than him. If the Sage Crystals had any bit of decency they would have granted you the title of the Third Sage.”

Ink chuckled. “The Sage Crystals could not have any bit of it because they are crystals.”

“I know, but the people who oversee it —”

“— are following the will of the crystals.” Ink interrupted. “If it said I’m just fine with being Sixth, what else can I do? Contest the conscious energy procured by long dead French abstractors?”

“You would do it because you are worthy. I know it, he knows it, the captain knows it.”

“Damn right I do. That’s why I don’t give a damn if I’m Sixth, Third, bump me down to Ninth for all I care. As long as I am by your side, I’m alright with it.”

That’s right, Ink thought. That was the idea. That was what he originally wanted. For him and Paper to be together. He’s waited for so long and now they’re finally here. He just didn’t want the order to think that their transfer was all for nought in fear that they might withdraw them. 

He cannot allow this mission to impede with what he wanted but at the same time, the very reason they are here is because Frank had been impotent with his results. If they can take him away like that what stops them from separating him from Paper as well.

So as much as that it annoys him to spend the first week in Munich diving right back to work, he has to or else he might not get a chance like this ever again.

Ink felt a sublime chill in his core, a signal that his sigils had returned a reading of the energy that runs through the Allianz. He approached the two sheets of paper, levitating in air, the artwork blazing like embered coal. He closed his eyes and drowned the rest of his senses, focusing on the output of his abstraction.

Nothing. This is impossible. This is the strongest sigil that Ink has used to dissect embedded energy. Either the arena truly has no magic within it or it is strong enough to shield itself from being probed. Ink feels strongly to latch on to the latter idea, all the traces in the city point in here yet the reading shows that the energy is scrambled in the arena.

“Anything?” Paper asked. Ink replied by shaking his head. Paper placed his hand on Ink’s shoulders and gave it a gentle squeeze. A much needed touch from his partner that relieved some of his stress.

Perhaps it was foolish of him after all to expect leads this early. Perhaps there is merit to Paper’s suggestion. Frustration boiled inside Ink, he snatched the papers off the air and stored them. The sigils will need to be restored but he ought not to waste anymore resources.

He turned around, facing Paper, and for the first time observing the skyline behind him. It was a spectacular night, the clouds open up to a clear sky that engaged in a tug of war between the bluish hue of the moon and the warm white glare from the urban nightlife.

"And since we're going to be here for a long time why can't we use our names during operations, Lucas? It's tiring to call ourselves Ink and Paper"

"That would be risky but what the hell, right Benji?"

Benjamin nodded. It truly is as Frank Ribery has boasted. Munich is beautiful, spectacular and most importantly full of mysteries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Background info:
> 
> The Nine Sages of France are a secret group of nine figures that are chosen by the Sage Crystals each of these individuals are powerful in their own right and posses a unique set of skills.
> 
> Benjamin Pavard:  
> \- The Fifth Sage  
> \- Codename: Ink  
> \- Abstraction: "Scribe" - Benjamin Pavard is able to conjure and apply magic using symbols drawn with a specific type of ink. He is able to summon monsters, create barriers, and inflict effects on opponents using drawings.
> 
> Lucas Hernandez:  
> \- The SIxth Sage  
> \- Codename: Paper  
> \- Abstraction: "Scroll" - Lucas Hernandez is able to conjure and control paper in combat. He is able to sharpen it to the point of cutting diamonds and hardening it to a barrier that rivals armor.


End file.
